You were never meant to live, Maria. You knew too much."
Maria Smith stood at the edge of the rooftop, wind biting against her skin as the city below blinked with cold, distant lights. Smoke curled up into the night sky, thick and black the building behind her already swallowed by flames.
Her breath came in ragged gasps.
She had run. Fought. Screamed. But it was over now.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
She turned. Her vision blurred with smoke and tears, but she saw the silhouette clearly tall, composed, familiar. Too familiar.
"You," she whispered.
The man stepped into the light. His eyes were dark, unreadable. His expression, flat.
"Why?" she choked out. "Why me?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped closer and raised something in his hand a lighter. Flame flickered to life.
"You were never supposed to remember," he said.
Maria staggered back, heart hammering. "You're going to kill me?"
"No," he said. "I already have."
The wind roared around them. And in that moment, she remembered everything—secrets she'd uncovered, whispers she'd heard, names she wasn't supposed to know.
And him.
The man who watched her like a stranger. The one she once thought had loved her.
As the fire rose behind her and the roof crumbled beneath her feet, Maria's last thought was not of death…
…it was of him.
Vincent.